CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SKYLAR
BREAKING NEWS: Skylar Stone declares that Weston Belmont has a “massive pole.”
“CAN YOU GRAB THAT?” WEST CALLS TO ME FROM THE KITCHEN AS I MAKE my way down the stairs, trying for what feels like the hundredth time to get my hair into a passable ponytail. Between the showers and the bed and all the fucking, it feels like a rat’s nest.
“On it.” I grin as I hit the main floor and take him in. He’s shirtless in the kitchen, making what he referred to as to as “breakfast grilled cheese.” He brought me coffee in bed, though it’s no longer hot since bringing me coffee turned into bringing me another orgasm.
With my lukewarm coffee in hand and West’s shirt of me over a pair of sleep shorts, I answer the front door.
And come face-to-face with an older woman I don’t know, but who is staring at me like she recognizes me just fine.
“Oh, look at you.” She claps her hands together and smiles. “You even have the same shirt as West. How lovely.”
Leaning against the car behind her, a lean man with hair thinning at his crown shakes his head and stares up at the sky. He has a no-nonsense, tough- love vibe about him. “They don’t have the same shirt, Greta. That is the same shirt.”
“We shouldn’t be presumptuous, Andy. It’s a nice shirt. Lots of people probably have it.”
“Ask me how I know that’s the same shirt,” he grumbles, while Greta blinks back at me, wearing an apologetic smile.
And me?
I want to dig my own grave right at my feet, crawl in, and cover myself with dirt. Because I’m positive these are West’s parents.
My lips pop open, then close. I don’t know how many times I try—and fail—to find any words to say to these people.
Andy is right—it’s pretty obvious what they’ve walked in on.
I settle on “Hi, I’m Skylar.” I extend a hand, and the woman takes it.
Her enthusiasm is genuine when she responds with “I’m West’s mom, Greta. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” Then she drops her voice to a stage whisper. “That’s his dad, Andy. I’m sorry about him.” She hikes a thumb over her shoulder. “All bark, no bite. He’s grumpy because I’m keeping us from our pickleball time slot.” She shifts to peek around me. “Is West home?”
“Oh, yup.” I nod rapidly, eager for him to come bail me out. “West,” I call into the house.
Within moments, he saunters to the front door.
And tosses an arm right over my shoulder.
All casual.
Like we do this all the time.
“Hey, Ma.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. “How ya doin’? I see you guys met Skylar.”
“We did, and we’re good.” She grins at him, reaching out to rub a hand over his arm. “Just wanted to check in on you.”
“She’s snoopin’,” Andy calls out, scowling at his wife.
“I am not.” She spins on him. “People were talking after the fair yesterday, and I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“Woman, we pulled up to underwear and a condom on the driveway. We both knew he was just fine. Now let’s go. I didn’t get you that fake ID for nothing.”
I go rigid and wonder if it’s possible to bury myself alive twice.
West?
West laughs. “You’re both snoopin’. Call before you stop by next time. I have a phone. And what’s this about a fake ID? I thought that was my move.”
“Still have three of them in a box at home, ya fuckin’ shit disturber,” his
dad mutters.
“Your dad got me a fake ID.”
West blinks, and I’m grateful we’ve all just brushed over the panties and condom. “Why?”
“Because the only good pickleball time slots at the rec center are for fifty- five plus. And I’m only fifty-three, which means we can’t go together, so he paid a tourist who looked similar to me for hers.”
“I don’t enjoy spending time with other people, and you keep telling me I need to exercise,” Andy grumbles. Although he seems irritated, there’s something incredibly sweet about the sentiment.
My hand finds its way up over my mouth to cover my amusement. After all, my ripped underwear are mere feet away—I have nothing to be smug about.
West looks between them in total shock. “But everyone knows who you are.”
“It was enough to shut them up.” Andy holds his hand out to his wife from where he stands on the gravel driveway. “Can we go now? We’re gonna be late.”
She smiles at him before turning back to wink at us. “Nice to meet you, Skylar. You two come up to the house for dinner sometime. We’d like that.”
“I would too,” I add softly, feeling West’s fingertips strum soothingly on my shoulder.
She pivots to leave, jogging away down the front steps, and West straightens beside me. “Wait, why’d you really come over?”
She’s already getting into the car while Andy holds the door for her, but she glances up and calls back, “Oh, I really was just snooping. And, Weston, clean the driveway.”
She drops into her seat and Andy closes her door with another shake of his head. When they pull away, his mom waves with excitement while his dad continues shaking his head.
We watch them disappear down the road, standing side by side in stunned silence.
“Well, that was something,” West says. “One day, we’ll look back on this and laugh about the day you met my parents.”
An awkward giggle erupts from me. Partly because that was one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life. And partly because when West talks about us—the future—like it’s such a sure thing, it makes me downright giddy.
“Why did you have three fake IDs?” I blurt, my mind tripping up on that tidbit.
West presses a rough kiss to my temple and grins. “Kept getting a new one because Dad kept taking them away. He only got three. I had more.”
“You weren’t kidding about being a handful.”
He laughs, all warm and deep. The vibration rolls through my body, and I press closer just to be near him. I want to soak him in as much as I can. To bask in this rosy, happy bubble.
“My mom always said she had to hug me a little longer just in case it was the last one. I used to laugh about that, play it off like she was being ridiculous. Now? As a parent?” He scrubs a hand over his beard and shakes his head but never answers his question. I can guess what he’s thinking.
Just in case it’s the last one.
The sentiment of his mom’s saying hits me hard, and I hug him tighter, nuzzling into his side.
He kisses my hair and murmurs, “How about we eat and go get you a phone, so I don’t tear this town apart the next time I can’t find you?”
All I can muster is a nod because the thought of being separated from West hits sharp and fast and leaves me at a loss for words.
By Wednesday, I’ve given up pretending that I don’t gawk at West while he sits on the back of a horse. Sure, my notepad is in my lap, but I enjoy the stillness, the simplicity of just sitting and watching him. The sun on my skin, the birds overhead.
Shit, I’ve even come to enjoy the smell of the barn.
Most days I lose count of how many horses he rides. It seems like it varies each time I watch. But he infrequently leaves the arena. A groom or a
farmhand brings him his next horse and even I can tell that they leave the ring
better than they came in.
More calm.
More accepting.
More sure of themselves.
And I can relate. I’ve spent the last four nights in West’s bed—his arms around me, his lips on my skin—and I feel all of those things too.
“This one’s spicy,” the man I’ve come to know as Conor calls as he leads out a horse I don’t recognize. She trots sideways, showing the whites of her eyes. “She’s been pissed since the moment she arrived this morning.”
West nods while he walks the bay gelding that he just hopped off to the fence and loops the reins over the post. His broad palm swipes over the horse’s face, and its eyes flutter shut when he says, “Good man,” to it.
He tosses me a wink as I lean back on the bleachers. During this time of day, the sun hits them directly, and I’m enjoying getting a tan that doesn’t rub off on my sheets at night. This may give me wrinkles when I’m older, but I’ll love each one as memories of this blissful little stop in my life.
West approaches Conor and takes the filly’s reins. She’s a dark dapple gray. Her coat is incredible, giving her a silver-spotted appearance. West murmurs to her, ignoring every spin and prance. He goes about his work with all the patience in the world as Conor slides over to grab the one West left near the post.
“Skylar.” He offers me a professional nod and I return it with a quick
wave.
“Conor.”
He’s a no-nonsense kind of guy. Works hard and goes home to his family.
I tried making conversation with him once and it fell flat, so I stick to polite greetings now.
Soon he’s gone, and it’s just me and West and the flashy horse in the ring.
I don’t know how long I watch them, but West never stops talking to her as he follows her lead around the ring. The muscles in his arms flex as he grips the reins, and as she spins in circles and dances around him, he remains unruffled. Her eyes and her closest ear flick in his direction a little more frequently, as though she’s deciding if he’s really so bad.
After a while, she turns her entire head toward him and sniffs, taking him in like it’s the first deep breath she’s allowed herself.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he says in a gentle voice, and I bite down on
my bottom lip.
Watching him with the horses has become a favorite daily treat. First, he looks fucking killer in jeans and a T-shirt. Second, he says things like that.
Third, he’s amazing at this. I know little about horses, but I don’t need to know much to see it. The way he talks to them, touches them. He respects them.
He’s incredibly capable. And fuck, that’s hot.
I cross my legs as I watch him lead the filly around the ring, explaining the farm to her in dulcet tones as though she were a human. “Just over there is my house.”
He points at it as he walks her into the corner and lets her sniff every inch of the place. The step stool. The poles stacked near the end.
I can see the anxiety loosen around her. She’s still tense, but she’s warming up to West. When she sniffs the scuffed end of his boot, her lips wiggle against it softly. He runs his hand over her neck, over her shoulder, and back up.
“There she goes, huh? All right, pretty girl. You did good today.”
He turns to lead her out of the ring, and I can’t keep myself from asking as he walks past, “That’s it? You’re not going to ride her?”
West’s eyes flash up to mine, then back to the filly. “Nah, she’s not ready. Doesn’t trust me.” He grins at me. “But she will. And I’m in no rush.”
He leaves me sitting here, slack-jawed. I know we were talking about the horse, but I can’t help but feel a kinship with her somehow. I was a nervous wreck when I got here too. And West soothed me. Never pushed me too far.
Always made me feel better about myself, never worse.
God, he’s treated me with such love.
It makes my heart race.
It makes my heart ache.
It makes my heart a little more his than it already was.